The Exile

by Gregory Erich Phillips

  Leila found one of the original disclosures that had a clean signature, then printed up the original right of rescission page from the final doc package. Taking both into the copy room, she cut out Mrs. Collins’s signature with steadier hands than she expected. She taped it onto the new document and dated the document for Wednesday instead of Thursday. She made a photocopy. It looked good. She took the page with the taped-on signature and slipped it into the shred bin. She scanned the new page to Christy at escrow before she would have time to rethink her action.

  Christy closed the loan without asking any questions. Later, Mr. Collins called Leila, profuse with gratitude for the fresh start she had given his family.

  Leila was exhausted. Despite the opportunity of the low rates, she couldn’t muster the energy to make any calls that afternoon. She left early and drove to her dad’s house.

  After eating dinner together, they sat outside in the warm evening. Carmen had stayed inside. The air was pleasant now that the whole yard was in shade. Leila put on her light leather jacket. Birds chirped in the palm trees.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can do this business,” she said. “It takes a lot out of me.”

  “You’re a tough girl, though.”

  “I worry what I’ll become.”

  “Always keep your integrity. I learned that the hard way.”

  She might have to learn it the hard way too. How much of her integrity had she already sacrificed? It was difficult to know what to think about what she did today. She had a hard time even thinking it was wrong. The three-day rescission rule was silly. But people had lost their careers over less than she’d done.

  In her position, she had risked more than her career. Her dad always warned her that as non-US citizens, it was imperative that they live by the letter of the law. Any slip could be the end of this life they’d built on so much sweat and tears.

  Leila breathed deeply of the hot night air. The dry desert heat was so different than the humidity of Cartagena, perched between the jungle and the sea.

  “A few months ago, I had a dream,” she said. “My face was on one of those pictures I told you about seeing in Paulo’s house in Cartagena. All the women looked dead in the pictures—I’ve never forgotten that part. In my dream, my face looked dead too. Thinking about it makes me wonder what I’m doing with my life.”

  Manny snorted. “The portraits looked dead because Paulo was never any good as an artist. That’s all.”

  “That’s not the point. I’m afraid I’m not really living. Maybe the mortgage business isn’t for me.”

  She wished she could work in a lower-pressure career, one that wouldn’t suck the life out of her. This morning, DeShawn had reminded her how nice her paycheck would be in a couple of weeks. It was hard to think about quitting when the money kept flowing. How much would be enough? How much of herself would it cost?

  Samantha turned off her light and looked out across the empty office. It had been a good day—four closings and eight new names on the board. She began to shut off lights. In the copy room, she took a key out of her purse and opened the shred bin. She didn’t look in it every night, but on a wild day at the office like this, one never knew what goodies might be found in there.

  It didn’t take her long to come across the rescission document with Mrs. Collins’s taped-on signature. Her eyes were well trained.

  Samantha smiled. “Good girl, Leila.”

  She folded up the page and put it in her purse, just in case it might be useful to her one day. She locked the shred bin and turned off the rest of the lights.

  11

  “ASHFORD.”

  He knew her voice immediately. His eyes searched the crowded square on this hot June night in Old Town. The place had a festive atmosphere, befitting his mood as he celebrated with his classmates. A Latin band played under a large awning, and several couples danced on the pavement.

  He found her. She was sitting on a bench in a black dress with two other girls. Her legs were folded at an angle down to her strappy sandals. Her curly hair flowed over and behind her head. She was stunning. She smiled as he walked over.

  “It’s good to see you again, Leila. I hoped I would.”

  “Did you?”

  “May I buy you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Her two friends watched with interest. He remembered the blonde from the pool party at his house.

  “Sit down for a minute,” Leila said. “I’ll try not to say anything rude this time.”

  He sat on an adjacent bench. Strings of lights reached from the lampposts toward the buildings behind, creating a starlike pattern above them. The lights shimmered off the windows of the restaurants and clubs.

  “I graduated today,” he said.

  “That’s wonderful. Congratulations. So did Jen.”

  The blonde smiled. They congratulated each other.

  A small breeze rose off the canal, softening the heat of the night. Out of the corner of his eye, Ashford saw his classmates walk into a crowded bar across the square. He was in no hurry to catch up with them.

  “I owe you some thanks.” He looked back at Leila. “You gave me a good challenge the last time we talked. It made me think.”

  She looked skeptical.

  “The week after the pool party, I had an encounter at the hospital with a patient who really shook me up. It forced me to think of my role as a nurse differently, in a good way.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I think you’ll be a good nurse. Just go easy on your magic brews.”

  He laughed.

  “So, what happened at the hospital?”

  “I don’t want to go into it now.”

  “But I’m curious now, and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

  “I hope we’ll see each other again soon. Really, I would like to ask you out.”

  “So ask.”

  “I’m afraid to.”

  “It would be bold of you, all things considered.”

  “How would you answer?”

  “I don’t know. Going out with you would be pretty risky for me. I suppose it depends on how you ask.”

  Ashford’s heart thumped. Now was the time. Her two friends bored holes in him with their eyes. “Will you go out with me?”

  “No. That wasn’t good enough.”

  He laughed even though it felt like he had been led into a trap. He fidgeted and glanced toward the bar his friends had entered.

  She placed her hand on top of his, where it rested on his knee. “You have to give a girl a reason to say yes. An enticement . . . something to look forward to. I’d need more incentive before taking such a risk.”

  “I’ll try again.”

  “Too late, you missed your chance. But I’ll dance with you.”

  “I don’t know how to dance salsa.”

  “This isn’t salsa music. It’s bachata. Come, I’ll show you how.” She hopped to her feet and reached her hand toward him. He couldn’t resist taking it. He followed her down in front of the band where the other couples danced. The music was inviting: beautiful with its melody while pulsing with its rhythm. Leila’s shoulders had already started moving to the beat.

  “See how they’re moving?” She nodded toward the other couples, still holding his hand. “Try it—side to side, one two three lift, one two three lift.”

  He tried as she watched him.

  “Bend your knees. Get low. That’s it.” She turned in front of him. Her face was inches away. “Now, hold me behind my shoulder blades.”

  He put his hands behind her. Their eyes were locked. She began to sway. He supported her back as she leaned into his hands.

  “Feel the way I move. Now, move with me. Remember the steps: one two three lift.”

  He followed her, feeling the rhythm through her back against his hands. Their eyes remained locked. She had dark, wise eyes.

  “Now closer. Let our knees move in between each other’s.”

  Without waiting for his lea
d, she moved in close to him. He could feel her hair against his cheek and smell her fragrant skin. Her cool, bare legs were against his. Her chest brushed against him as they moved from side to side. Her back muscles pulsed against his hands. The dance was sensual, visceral—her body and the music inviting him into the movement.

  She was singing softly in Spanish. Her voice moved him with its beauty and drew him closer to her in the intimacy of the moment. He understood the rhythm now, moving naturally with her. Their legs were entwined. Their chests moved in unison without being pressed together.

  By the time the song ended, Ashford had fallen in love.

  She looked back up into his eyes. Surely, she had felt the same thing he did. For the briefest moment, he saw it in her eyes before she looked away.

  “That was nice. You’re a natural.” She began to walk back toward her friends. He reached for her hand.

  “Leila, I have to see you again.”

  She turned her head and smiled at him. There was a distance in her eyes now, a lonely melancholy. The connection from a moment before was gone. “It’s only a dance, darling.”

  She slipped her hand out of his grasp and walked back across the square.

  It was late, but the girls weren’t tired. Leila scampered ahead of Jen and Brandy and pirouetted on the canal path. The warm night air felt good against her skin. She waited for her friends to catch up.

  “Nobody would believe you’re the sober one.” Brandy laughed.

  “She’s drunk on love,” said Jen.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Lie all you want. We saw how you looked at that boy and how you danced with him. It was hot.”

  Leila walked on. She felt happy and alive. She wanted to enjoy the moment without thinking about it too much.

  “Please give that boy a chance.”

  “I can’t. He’s my boss’s son.”

  “Then why did you dance with him like that?”

  “A dance isn’t a promise.”

  “You’re leading him on.”

  As Leila walked, she moved to the bachata rhythm in her head, remembering the feeling of Ashford’s strong hands on her shoulder blades and the scent of his neck. She did like him. That was why she had to be so careful.

  The warm breeze rustled through the close palms beside the path. The canal shimmered in the light of the few stars bright enough to break through the glow of the city.

  “How bad could it be if you went out with him?”

  My goodness, Jen, just let it go!

  “Maybe his mom wouldn’t even mind.”

  “Oh, she would.”

  “So? Get a new job. Mortgage brokers are a dime a dozen around here. Wouldn’t it be worth it?”

  “No.” She turned and looked at Jen, finally starting to feel annoyed. Surely, Jen remembered. It wasn’t only the issue of Ashford being Samantha’s son. Leila wasn’t ready to open her heart to anyone. The risk to her heart scared her more than the risk to her livelihood.

  Even if she was ready to love, surely she could do better than him.

  Jen looked sad for her. Leila couldn’t help feeling a little melancholy too.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Brandy said. “My feet hurt.”

  Leila took Brandy’s arm, and they walked back up the path the way they had come under the tall palms. Jen followed a step behind.

  Soon, Leila was driving her friends home. With the windows rolled down and the radio cranked up, they sang at the top of their lungs, pleading along with Justin Timberlake that this just can’t be summer love.

  Later that night, Leila kicked off her shoes as soon as she walked back into her apartment.

  It had been a fun evening—the kind she should make the time for more often. It wasn’t time she lacked, but energy. Her job sucked so much out of her that planning and preparing for a night out had become a daunting task. She couldn’t even imagine dating.

  Jen was right. There were more important things than work. Love was certainly one of them. But why take a chance for something she couldn’t trust?

  Lying awake in bed as Romeo settled himself heavily on her legs, the melody of the song she and Ashford had danced to came back to her mind.

  She was lonely. She could admit it to herself, if not to anyone else. But somehow, even loneliness had become comfortable. Her childhood trained her in loneliness as a means for survival. Those lessons had served her well. But her heart wanted to trust people, to believe in them. She wanted to feel free to take a risk. She longed for companionship—to let someone hold her heart and trust it wouldn’t be broken.

  For a moment tonight, when she leaned into Ashford’s hands and felt herself held securely, she trusted him. How wonderful it would feel to be held now as she drifted off to sleep.

  If only it were that simple.

  12

  “ARIZONA PRIME PATH Mortgage, this is Leila.”

  “Leila, it’s me. Ashford.”

  “What? You can’t call me here.” She looked around, hoping nobody had heard her.

  “I have to see you again. Can you come downstairs?”

  “You’re here? At the office?”

  “I’m at the Starbucks across the street.”

  She was angry. She didn’t want to meet him, but she couldn’t talk on the phone. DeShawn had already glanced over. She was clearly not on a sales call.

  Minutes later, she took the elevator down and crossed the busy street at the stoplight, glancing up even though she knew none of the loan officers had desks at the windows.

  Ashford stood up from his table when she walked in. Her eyes shot daggers at him. He tried to smile, but her look wiped it off his face.

  “Don’t be angry.”

  “I am angry. You can’t put me in this position.”

  “My mom isn’t even there today.”

  “But it’s not just her. What if someone else sees us here?”

  She sat down but refused his invitation for coffee. Just as in the office a few minutes before, the room buzzed with many voices, but she could have heard a pin drop, afraid her every word would be overheard.

  “I’m sorry, Leila. I had to find a way to see you again. I’ve been dying since that night we danced in Old Town. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I can’t think of anything but you.” His words came quick, with agitation.

  “Have you thought this through? Think of the position it would put me in.”

  “Maybe my mom wouldn’t mind as much as you think.”

  Leila was glad he didn’t say, “She wouldn’t have to know.”

  “Don’t you know your own mother? I’m an immigrant with no college education. She has high hopes for her son, and one of them is for him to marry well. She’s picturing a nice white girl from a good family for you. Now, maybe that sounds too heavy for you. Maybe you’re only looking for a girl to have a good time with, and here I am talking about who you’ll marry. But for me, it is heavy.”

  It wasn’t something she could explain to him if he didn’t already know. After two years working for her, Leila thought she knew Samantha pretty well. Samantha cared about her, genuinely, but Samantha also categorized people.

  Samantha expected people to remain in their roles. She saw no disconnect in hiring an immigrant while at the same time railing on the politicians for failing to secure the state’s southern border. Leila had a legal visa, but she had no doubt that Samantha would employ a nondocumented immigrant if they were good on a phone. The same deeply held categorizations allowed her to be good friends with Paul Weidman and hold genuine professional respect for Mona Shaw, yet at the same time laugh when Cox made hurtful, homophobic jokes behind their backs.

  Leila had been in the country long enough to see these assumptions in people’s eyes. It was the kind of racism you couldn’t even call out. She wouldn’t have been able to explain it to Ashford. “There are things about me you don’t know,” she said instead.

  “I want to know everything about you.”

  “I know
. I can tell. I even wish . . .” She let the thought trail off. “If I agree to date you and it doesn’t work out, I’m risking both my career and my heart.”

  “I won’t break your heart, Leila. I promise.”

  His words rushed in and grabbed at something inside her. She looked into his eyes. They were serious and true. She believed him. But his confidence was unwarranted. He had no livelihood of his own. Even if they truly loved each other, if Samantha fired her and kicked him out of her house, they would have nothing. She didn’t like him that much.

  She placed her hand on his across the table. “I believe you won’t try to. But it might be out of your hands.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes longer. There was nothing else to be said.

  Leila stood up and walked to his side of the table. He stood up too. They hugged. She closed her eyes, realizing that they were moist as she savored his embrace. She could almost believe she was safe in those arms. She stepped back and squeezed his hand between both of hers.

  “Goodbye, Ashford.”

  Through the summer, Leila buckled down and worked. It was her only focus. She spent long days at the office and even started coming in on Saturdays. Nobody wanted to be outdoors in the summer in Phoenix anyway when the heat hit you in the face like a wall and took your breath away. Opening the front door felt like opening the oven. July had been her biggest closing month ever, and August was shaping up the same way. She was gaining on Tommy Wong for second place.

  Paul was acting as the listing agent for a huge new subdivision on the edge of the city being built right out into the desert. Thanks to Leila’s efforts, which had started that night in Sedona, Arizona Prime Path Mortgage was named the preferred lender. Plats had begun to sell above asking price before ground had even been broken.

  The political mood in the country was turning against the subprime mortgage market, but business boomed on. Rates were low, and the housing market was hot. Regulators had eliminated a few loan programs but not enough to seriously impact business. A handful of the most risk-inclined lenders went bankrupt that summer. Rather than worry, Samantha reveled in the reduction in competition.